


Not His King

by seasonschange



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Cultural Differences, Jealousy, Jord doesn't speak Akielon, Jord is a mess, Kings Rising Spoilers, Love/Hate, M/M, Matchmaker Laurent, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Nikandros speaks very little Veretian, Primarily Nord (Nik/Jord), Rough Sex, Sappy Ending, This story has very little Lamen, Xenophobia, crygasm, they still manage :D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasonschange/pseuds/seasonschange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I am not your boy,"</i> he had said. Low. On the cusp of threatening. <i>"Here we fuck like men, not boys."</i></p><p>He had meant to say, <i>I am not Laurent.</i></p><p>Something had distorted Jord's features, then. His expression something raw and honest like Veretians rarely were.</p><p>Nikandros wasn't sure, but it'd looked like hurt.</p><p>It didn't last long.</p><p>  <i>"And how do men fuck in Akielos?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IDK WHAT THE FUCK I'M DOING BUT [this quote happened in Kings Rising](http://sorrywerebts.tumblr.com/post/138790272711/jord-said-you-coward-you-left-him-to-the) (page 293) AND MY SHIP HAD SAILED. This is a 100% self-indulgent fic, basically, so expect a lot of angst and sap and cheese, and a happy ending ofc!
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> **hair & coloring claims:**
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> Jord (Travis Fimmel)
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> Nikandros (Jason Momoa)
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> I personally don't picture them with beards, but feel free. Maybe Nikandros?
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> **I've also made a playlist of songs that have a CP feel... ja feel... ANYWAY if anyone's interested, it's:[here](https://8tracks.com/thesafesthands/not-his-king).**

* * *

Nikandros rose from the great bed like a tiger emerging from its hiding place in the undergrowth.

Although it had been officially declared Akielon territory half a decade ago, the fort of Marlas was still furnished in the Veretian tradition, and his rooms were no exception.

It was suffocating.

That someone would want to lay in such a fastidiously made bed was beyond his comprehension. That any man would _willingly_ live in these quarters where every square inch of wall was invaded by patterns over patterns, where the floor represented a giant mosaic depicting strictly nothing but repetitive shapes that made no sense but made his step falter every time they'd catch his eye; it was unthinkable. Nikandros knew these rooms that were given to him to be more spacious than the impression they gave, but with all the patterns, the useless pieces of furniture crowding every single corner and the heavy drapes hanging from the high ceiling, filtering all light from the tall windows - these rooms gave him the impression of living in a burrow. An excessively decorated burrow.

Nikandros felt ridiculously out of place.

He wondered if Damianos had felt the same way when he'd first arrived in Vere. He'd been a slave, Nikandros thought, staving his revulsion and outrage with great effort, but a slave belonging to the Crown Prince. They'd have kept him in such a place, restricted in his movements (he refused to think the word 'chained') but still subjected to the lavish taste of the Kingdom of Vere.

A smile threatened at the corner of his hard mouth when he imagined Damianos' sentiment regarding the decoration.

His amusement did not last, blown out like the flickering light of a candle at the memory of his King as he'd met him in fort Ravenel, dressed from head to toe in Veretian garments, undistinguishable from the tapestries dressing up the walls. His time in Vere had changed his friend, and Nikandros was often reminded of those changes at the most unexpected times.

It hurt to see the chasm between them, and not having been present to watch it form. One day, it was simply there, forcing Nikandros to keep his distances. To watch from afar and try to understand how it felt to be on the other side. He felt out of tune with the man who had once been his only confidant, and who had done him the honor of calling him 'friend' - and on occasions, 'brother'.

He would not call Damianos a stranger for his face, his stature, his strength were still familiar like the sight of his own limbs and body were. But it hurt because he could easily,  _so easily_ fall prey to the doubts that were plaguing him. Especially when asked to ally himself with Akielos' sworn rival. Or to give up his land on the whims of a petty Prince. It demanded a great strength of character not to side with Makedon. That was the easy route. The one where Nikandros and Damianos' friendship could not pursue. 

A weary sigh.

It was useless to torture himself over Damianos. The rightful King of Akielos was alive; his  _friend_ was alive and Nikandros knew that he would not stray from the path his heart dictated. He'd follow this new Damianos to death and beyond, as surely as he'd have done a year ago.

Damianos needn't even ask.

Nikandros peeled the layers of bedding away from his body, and in the process knocked to the ground a few of the army of silk cushions lined up at the foot of the bed.

The high canopy topping the bed was also a vision he would need time to accept as a part of his surroundings. His fingers skipped on the fine tissue before he could get a good hold of it and push it aside. As one of the attendants of the fort had so gracefully explained, the curtains were an unavoidable feature in order to protect one's privacy during certain acts better performed on a bed.

To which both he and Damianos had shared an amused smile behind the attendant's back.

In Akielos, there was no such need for it was not a custom to barge into another man's sleeping quarters unless invited. Damianos had turned red-faced when explaining the way the people of Vere saw sexual practices - as something to be shared in public and not kept jealously in the privacy of one's home. It'd been disconcerting, but not exactly surprising. Nikandros knew his people were often referred to as 'barbarians' for their lack of luxury and sparse clothing, but in his eyes the Veretians represented a whole new category of barbaric. They were uninhibited, honorless and apparently needed to build their bedding like a fortified castle in case of curious spectators.

Furthermore, it was common knowledge that Nikandros enjoyed his encounters on any surface intended for that purpose or not, without restricting himself to the comfort of a pallet or a bed. The result of broken furniture and general ambiance of disarray afterwards had brought that fact to the public.

This early morning, the young Prince's right-hand man could also testify to that.

Nikandros had already slipped out of the high bed and wandered to one of the windows, careless nakedness and narrowed eyes trained on the outlines of ancient ruins in the distance.

"Good morning," he said, unmoving, when he heard the tell-tale sounds of another man regaining consciousness after a too brief night of sleep.

No reply. Followed by stubborn silence.

And just like that something shifted in the air, a sudden weight settling on his shoulders that wasn't there only moments before.

This wasn't pleasant, the morning after sleeping with the enemy. Not that he would call him that to his face, not after Damianos' vehement speech about an urgent need for peace between their countries, and the importance of unity if they were to claim the usurper Kastor's throne. But it didn't change the fact that he still thought of him - of them all - as a hostile force he couldn't allow to let out of his sight. The Prince of Vere had clearly his own plans and Nikandros doubted he'd shared them all with the King.

He knew that type very well. Had met it, often, even in Akielos. Laurent of Vere even  _looked_ like  _her_ , and yet Damianos behaved without any caution.

He had given his pure Akielon heart to another snake, and all Nikandros could do was try to limit the damage, bestow unsolicited counsel and keep his senses alert.

A storm was brewing, he could hear it come, and he would do his damned best so that no more harm came to his King.

"I'm disappointed. I expected more conversation from the Prince of Vere's very best."

Foolish, to make small talk with the man. Especially when one's lexicon was limited to diplomatic terms in order to keep the dialogue open on each side of the border. 

Yet he couldn't have stopped himself even if he wanted to. He knew his accent to be thick and the words never came to him easily, but it was still understandable Veretian.

And incredibly, it worked.

"I fail to see what we could talk about. We have nothing in common."

Jord hadn't moved after waking up, barely tugged the covers down and revealed the hard lines of his chest and stomach and the dark trail that began below his navel and disappeared enticingly under the covers.

Nikandros knew because he made the mistake of looking.

Jord was not very tall - he barely reached twenty-year-old Laurent's height, but he was no less impressive. Standing up armed and dressed in full Veretian armor, or sprawled in Nikandros' bed with his golden skin and disheveled sandy brown hair on display - it didn't matter, the word _'stunning'_  still seemed widely insufficient to describe the lasting impression he left on him.

Light eyes were trained on him with just a drop of that infuriating self-righteousness.

Last night, it had been different.

Last night, the Veretian soldier had exuded a certain reticence; one born from shyness, and not as Nikandros had expected - from disgust. After all, it was considered highly distasteful to 'lay in the sweat of an Akielon bed', or so he'd heard.

_"Nikandros, I... don't know if you..."_

Kisses light like the wings of a butterfly. Prudent, not inexperienced. Tremors that turned a seasoned warrior's body into a pliant receptacle for pleasure. That was the way Jord had advanced on Nikandros.

A clash of teeth, an ardor that could not be so easily put out and needed an outlet other than arguing day and night. A hard collision with the nearest wall. That was the way Nikandros had greeted the other man and then returned for some more.

_"Nik..."_

The nickname had been new, he thought, watching Jord push on his hands, hoisting himself upwards before leaning back against the bedframe.

New and strange, but not unpleasant. Perhaps welcome.

"I was simply being polite. I know you Veretians like to talk until your audience's ears are bleeding."

Jord almost kept quiet. Nikandros could see the internal struggle to remain silent and not give the other man the satisfaction of another argument.

It almost worked.

"Because staring", Jord shot back matter-of-factly, "at each other for hours without uttering a single word is of course better."

A short pause to decipher the meaning of the rapid-fire words in flawless Veretian. 

"It does require some training," he amended.

Jord made a sound Nikandros had only ever heard his horse make.

The absence of conversation that ensued could not be described as quiet. The atmosphere was tense, and Nikandros saw Jord's eyes flash with something in the semi-darkness of the room.

"Out of the bed," he growled involuntarily.

He was finding himself in the _mood_ again. Either to fight or fuck, it was Jord's choice.

One of Jord's fair eyebrows jumped up closer to his hairline. Then with a frown he was moving, eyes darting to the vast expanse of the room, visibly looking for his clothes.

Nikandros understood his mistake and clarified with amusement creeping into his voice, "no, I meant come here."

"I'm not a dog for you to order around."

"Believe me, I'm well aware of that. Now stop being so difficult and come here."

"I'm not an Akielon slave," Jord insisted.

Then he was standing beside the bed. Daring and defying, but not moving.

Nikandros licked his lips, his hooded eyes traveling to all the places of that glorious form he wished to have at touching-distance soon as possible.

Jord didn't flinch, or show any other signs that he cared for the slow caress of Nikandros' eyes on him. It took some time for Nikandros to find the right words, and he still managed to let a little Akielon slip inadvertently.

"A slave would've already been in my lap; enjoying our last moments of peace before the whole fort is back on its feet. Not wasting them with hollow chatter. If I _tried_ I couldn't mistake you for one of my slaves. But please, do share how one is supposed to make another understand in Vere that they wish to fuck _at least_ before the day is over. Do bear in mind that unlike my King, your language makes little to no sense to me. As you've probably already noticed."

He saw Jord frown, trying to make sense of the words he could understand and guessing those he could not, and then he let out a laugh that was a brief, sharp sound.

It proved enough to diffuse the animosity that was hanging between them... for the time being.

Interest sparking anew, he felt himself grow hot and heavy when Jord  _finally_ started walking. No slave had ever made him wait so long. 

Nikandros didn't get to enjoy free men and women often enough, and with a sudden clarity he understood why Damianos had ordered that no slaves were to serve him anymore. There was no power struggle between master and slave, only blind obedience. There was no playfulness unless ordered. The needs of one came before the needs of the other; that other trained from their tender childhood to accept a lower position, and find comfort and pleasure in submission.

They were  _trained_.

Jord wasn't trained to please him. He was trained to fight and kill, and spread the influence and prestige of his country and his Prince. He owed nothing to his own countrymen or those who sided with the Regent, and he certainly didn't owe Akielos a single scrap more.

So to follow Nikandros into his chambers, to accept and welcome what had happened between them, although not without some reservations at first - he valued it for what it was.

A desire that far outweighed any political or personal dissonance.

Nikandros found that he was perfectly alright with that as his arms finally came around the other man.

Once he was made a  _kyros_ of Ios, he doubted he'd be keeping as many slaves as he was used to. Damianos would approve. Strange, barely recognizable Damianos who Nikandros often caught as of late _frowning_ at certain displays of Akielon culture.

Jord's mouth chased away all thoughts of Damianos and Akielon slaves alike.

Unlike now, needing to be coaxed and persuaded out of bed - yesterday Jord had surprised him by being the one to make the first move; to walk the short distance between them, to come forth and gently drop the ghost of a kiss on Nikandros' lips. The kiss hadn't been the surprise. It'd been the question that followed.

_"Was that... is that alright?"_

Nikandros had wondered if Jord thought him strictly interested in women, or if there had been something else. His reply had been to grab the shorter man and bring them flush together, enough so that Jord could feel the hard line of his desire for him.

_"Do you doubt it?"_

_"I don't want to rush you into anything you don't want."_

Nikandros had winced. He knew Jord saw the rictus on his face, but couldn't guess the reason behind.

Jord had come at him treating him like he would an immature boy who'd barely discovered the pleasures of sex. No doubt that he'd been wanting someone else then. Picturing a younger, different man.

The only person Nikandros could think of was the Prince. He didn't know why that thought had made his blood boil - and still did. Perhaps he'd felt insulted to be used as a substitute. Or maybe because it felt wrong that someone else was coveting Laurent when such a relationship would surely break Damianos' heart.

It had stung. Enough to awake something dark and ugly inside him.

 _"I am not your boy,"_ he had said. Low. On the cusp of threatening.  _"Here we fuck like men, not boys."_

He had meant to say,  _I am not Laurent._

Something had distorted Jord's features, then. His expression something raw and honest like Veretians rarely were.

Nikandros wasn't sure, but it'd looked like hurt.

It didn't last long.

 _"And how do men fuck in Akielos?"_ Angry. Arrogant.

Nikandros had been more than happy to show him.

* * *

"Do you ever take that off?"

The question made little sense, and the last kiss he pressed into warm golden skin lasted longer than the others.

"Take what off?"

"Your _braid_."

"My what?" Nikandros asked, the Veretian word making no sense to him.

Jord very helpfully took hold of the end of his braid and tugged at it.

Hard.

Nikandros only wore his hair in a braid in times of war. It helped him find his focus. It provided him with a better view of upcoming enemies on the field. And sometimes he'd simply trim his hair altogether.

He had not cut his hair ever since the death of King Theomedes.

He had not walked with his long strands of raven black unwoven since the death of Prince Damianos.

"Turn around," he said now, barely tracing the words into golden skin.

Jord shivered, opened his mouth as if to argue. And complied.

When he had him braced against the wall, Nikandros took a step back and reached for the knot at the base of his braid. Slaves would usually untie it before his bath and tie it right back once he was done, his hair still dripping wet. This time, it was he who accomplished the task.

He dropped the narrow strip of leather at his feet.

The fingers digging into his scalp jostled him; made him look up and meet clear eyes and a furrowed brow.

Jord's fingers carefully run down the length of his hair, unbraiding it in their wake. It was undoubtedly meant to be a seductive act, but when short after he found himself caught into a knot of Nikandros' hair that Jord had created without noticing, the deep laugh spilling suddenly from Nikandros' throat ruined the intended seduction completely.

Jord grumbled something under his breath, obviously failing to see the humor of the situation but before he could take his hand back Nikandros was fully on him.

"You don't laugh much," Nikandros noted.

Jord said nothing and kissed him into silence.

* * *

 Their coupling was exactly what the word implied: a meeting of flesh, a release of tension shared between two willing partners. Nothing more.

Last night, Jord had said that he had not let anyone  _in_ in a long time. He had not wished for Nikandros to treat him like a doll made of ceramic, he'd said. Yet, he'd still shared that piece of very personal information.

Nikandros had truly tried to take both facts into account when he'd first slid inside. But the sounds Jord had made... they'd driven him crazy. And maybe made him a little careless with the other man's flesh.

In the morning light, he could see the dark bruises in the shape of his fingers. He dug his thumb into that place, and the shorter man moaned.

So it was painful, he thought.

But then they were not exactly lovers. This wasn't about cherishing each other's body. Jord probably couldn't care less about the bruises. Nikandros knew _he_ didn't. If that was the only kind of bruising he was allowed to leave on that man, he'd gladly seize the opportunity.

This morning, he found himself wanting something different. And after discovering Jord still willing and ready after the first round, Nikandros took his chance.

He went first on one knee, then the other, mouth following the trail of dark blond hairs. Jord's muscles seized up under taut golden skin, taken completely by surprise by Nikandros' bold move.

"What..."

A breath, whistling between clenched teeth.

"Not used to that, too? And here I thought Vere more depraved than this."

"It seems I'm nothing but a series of... _uh_ , disappointments for... _for you!"_ Jord valiantly managed as Nikandros licked his already straining member from base to tip, then blew.

Jord's strong fingers found their way back into Nikandros' wavy hair and he made two fists.

"To answer your question," he said, voice steady but only barely so, "I'm very used to  _that_. I just didn't expect someone of your stature to _stoop to_ that..."

Someone of his stature. A noble with lands to his name, and an army standing behind him.

Nikandros failed to see what his status had to do with what he enjoyed in bed. But then, the Veretians liked to over complicate things that were meant to be simple.

And something in that explanation felt unfinished. The quality of his voice suggested that there was something else Jord wished to say. Nikandros waited, lips a hair's breadth away from the most sensitive part of him.

Jord did not elaborate. For a Veretian, Nikandros thought for the umpteenth time, he was unexpectedly not inclined to wave webs of lies at each and every opportunity. There was no pretense in his way of talking. Jord always sounded sincere, if a little too blunt and arrogant at times. But he kept a lot to himself.

Nikandros wondered what it would be like to have this man's trust. What he would look like, speaking his mind overtly with no bite to his words. No veiled jabs directed at Nikandros' people.

He wasn't sure Jord possessed such a side to him.

"Is it my turn already?" Jord asked, mocking, when Nikandros didn't move for far too long.

He was not so mocking when Nikandros' mouth descended on him, and he buried his nose in Jord's dark gold curls.

* * *

Jord had a habit of crying after.

Nikandros found it deeply unsettling. And perhaps if it was someone less likely to punch him in the face in retaliation and deal _real_ damage - he'd have laughed.

He did not have a heart made of stone, however, which made him ask last night when Jord lay between Nikandros arms and the salty tears had spilled. 

As expected, he had gotten no explanation. Jord had pushed out of his embrace, furious and red-faced, and fallen asleep with his back to him.

Nikandros had forgotten that unpleasant moment almost instantly. Veretians were strange folks.

But now Jord was nearing his edge, the muscles of his thighs contracting rhytmically under Nikandros' palms, and when he cried out his name, Nikandros heard.

He heard the sadness clogging the other man's throat, altering the sound of his voice.

"Nik!"

One hand holding his hip, the other squeezing the roundness of an ass cheek, Nikandros mercilessly coaxed Jord's release with lips and tongue.

He could hear him try to repress the emotions roiling inside him as he finally spilled, and failing.

Nikandros waited until the last of the tremors had passed. Jord wasn't as vocal as he got when fucked into the ground, but he'd cried out that new version of his name again.

It'd felt calculated, this time. A forced reminder of who he was with. If Nikandros had to guess, he'd say Jord was afraid of picturing blond hair, and pale skin.

The idea annoyed him.

Nikandros crawled the short distance to the hearth and spat the contents of his mouth on the embers of last night's fire.

Jord remained upright, his shoulders the only point of contact between him and the wall. His eyes were red.

His mouth a thin, livid line from pinching it so hard.

"Jord..."

"No."

Jord brought a trembling arm to his forehead, hiding from Nikandros scrutiny. He had already wiped away the tears.

"You could tell me. If you wish."

Even if I already know who you so desperately want.

Jord's laugh ringed hollow.

"What do you care? What is one Veretian soldier to you?"

Nikandros could not find the right words. Jord went on, visibly upset and feeling bold.

"This was a mistake. We shouldn't be fucking when we can barely stand each other's presence."

"Hey," interrupted Nikandros, back to where he had been standing and grabbing hold of Jord's arm, prying it away from his face. "We don't have to stop."

"Do you enjoy knowing you've seen me this weak? Is that what you're after?"

"I enjoy fucking you."

Jord was grumbling something again, and Nikandros caught the word 'barbarian'.

"Don't." He warned, suddenly on edge.

He was growing tired of Jord's contempt.

"Don't like hearing the truth?"

His grip on Jord's arm tightened.

He should have hit him. A day ago, maybe he would have.

Nikandros curled his other hand around Jord's neck and squeezed. Then he pushed the arrogant man down till his knees hit the ground and said: "if you have enough strength left to badmouth people, you can as well return the favor."

He could only hope that Jord wouldn't bite his cock off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road to Ios (part 1/2)

* * *

For a man who'd known nothing but the bitter taste of disappointment and betrayal in his private affairs, Laurent considered himself exceptionally skilled at reading the hearts of his own men. 

It was but a rapid glance of interest.

An intake of breath when they were close enough to touch.

The deliberate banter meant to get a rise out of the other.

Those were the indisputable signs of a yearning heart, attracting Laurent's attention on his previous Captain of the Guard. That role had now fallen upon Enguerran's shoulders, who was well-versed in the art of leading an army of men, but Jord was still a fixture in Laurent's entourage as his personal guard. Even adviser, on occasions.

Jord was indeed a good soldier. And loyal to a fault - one of those true men of honor like there were far too little in this world.

Admittedly, no extraordinary skills had been needed to decipher the soldier's behavior. Laurent had already seen him behave in such a manner not so long ago, and done nothing to precipitate or prevent that relationship from happening.

He should have known better. Paid more attention to the signs. He'd thought _'let Jord enjoy uncle's whore while he can'_ and moved on to more essential matters.

The idea that his Captain could succumb so completely to Aimeric's charms had not even crossed his mind.

Damen would have known. He'd have known it was wrong and put an end to it. Perhaps even chased Councilor Guion's son away from the Prince's Guard. Had Laurent trusted him enough with his secrets and plans, Jord's heart might have been spared the taint left from Aimeric's poisonous love.

But alas, the past could not be rewritten.

Laurent saw it now, etched around the soldier's eyes and mouth; in the lines of his forehead. In the guarded hazel eyes. The proof that even though he so clearly longed for the barbarian's hands on him, Jord would never make the conscious move to make it happen.

Laurent understood that particular feeling. He himself, against all caution and common sense, had acquired the slave Isander in the hopes of not only causing Damen's jealousy but maybe expecting some kind of other... reaction, too. Unfortunately, Damen scarcely reacted the way he was expected to.

Laurent recognized that look in Jord's eyes, when the soldier thought nobody was watching. He could only hope to never get caught looking at Damen in the same way.

Of Nikandros the Akielon, Laurent knew too little. He was clearly Damen's ally, but during their brief exchange in Vere he'd had no opportunity to study the man's character in depth.

The only thing Laurent knew about him without a sliver of doubt was that he couldn't hurt his former Captain more than Aimeric had. Very few people in this world could.

This is why on their second night in Marlas, when Jord had come to request a change of quarters, he'd been met with a wall of refusal.

 _"I need someone I can trust"_ Laurent had ventured, knowing perfectly well what those words would provoke in the other man. He saw Jord's chest puff out, and his spine straighten and he'd known it'd be just that easy.  _"You'll be my eyes and ears, and keep close watch on King Damianos' kyros."_

 _"I will do whatever it takes."_ Unflinching and determined.

It really had been a child's play to get Jord to crawl into the barbarian's bed.

For his own sake.

* * *

 "Is this your doing?" Damen hissed.

Laurent looked at him from his sprawl on the high chair next to the rightful King of Akielos, and cocked one blond eyebrow.

"Nikandros and Jord," Damen continued vehemently while nobody was looking at them, too entertained by the games taking place in the field. "They are but forced to share quarters and everyone knows your previous captain is hot tempered and Nikandros holds no love for Veretians. Why put them in adjacent rooms? This will only lead to more unrest between our people. What is your gain?"

Laurent rolled his eyes.

Damen sighed.

The public quieted down when beautiful Pallas untied his chiton and entered the arena as bare as the day he was born, dark skin glistening from the oil.

"Trust me,  _I_ expect no gain."

"So you  _did_ arrange this!" Damen hissed, trying not to attract anyone's attention on their conversation.

Nikandros, standing not so far, threw him a curious glance.

Damen hastily put his hand over his mouth in an attempt to look like he was simply resting his head against it.

"Why are you doing this?" He went on, frustrated and lost.

"I'm making up for past mistakes."

Ever so laconic, Laurent stood straighter and focused his attention on the games, dismissing Damen like he was nothing more than a pestering servant.

Damen curled his hands into fists and forced himself to look away. He hated being kept out of Laurent's secrets once more. Even if their time together had been nothing but a lie - to him it had felt true.  _Damen_ had been true. 

But the past was the past, and Laurent clearly didn't need him besides helping him beat his uncle at his own game. So for the time being, Damen could only sit back and seethe in silence.

* * *

Their first night on Akielon soil, Nikandros grabbed Pallas in time to stop the man from making a monumental mistake. Like challenging the Prince of Vere to a duel to the death.

It was humiliating to watch Laurent treat their King like a slave, but it was an affront they had to endure, for as long as they'd need Laurent's men and contacts. Once Damianos had come back to his senses, Nikandros knew there would be time for retaliation. 

So with a few words in guttural Akielon, he sent the still fuming soldier to unpack the saddlebags and help the others settle camp. From the other side of the clearing they'd chosen to spend the night, Nikandros caught Damianos' nod of approval. 

The  _kyros_ bowed his head ever so slightly; a show of respect in return.

_I'll protect this peace at any cost, Exhalted._

* * *

 The first watch had fallen upon Jord and Lydos.

Nikandros studied the two men sitting by the fire in profound silence, bedroll forgotten in his hands. The flickering light was accenting the Veretian's profile in an unusual manner, casting strange shadows over his brow. Making him look somber. 

Nikandros had been intent on keeping an eye on the Prince of Vere during this journey, but he'd found himself inadvertently turning all his focus on the soldier as time passed by. He was always attracting his eye, by displays of skill on horseback or even by small, seemingly unimportant things. Like the sadness in his eyes whenever he wasn't being addressed for a while, and left to his own mysterious thoughts.

On several occasions, Nikandros found himself directing his mount closer to the other man's, with the intention of sparking some conversation. And taking the man off his visibly dark thoughts.

But each time he had caught himself before he could do anything _that_ stupid and quickly pulled away from the procession of chariots and horses and kept following them from a distance. A much needed distance to clear his head from any more of those laughable impulses.

All they did was fight.

Jord didn't expect camaraderie from him.

Had no desire for it.

If Nikandros showed him but one weakness, especially one concerning _him_ - he feared the soldier would latch onto it and exploit it for his own purpose. It was better to forget about those stolen nights at fort Marlas. At least for the duration of this campaign.

It was of little importance that Nikandros had come to... enjoy the other's company more than he resented it.

Nikandros was thus lost in his thoughts when Lydos walked up to him and brought him back to the present.

"He says I'm relieved of my duties if my  _kyros_ is planning on staying awake all night instead," the Akielon soldier told him with a smirk before going to his designated spot and all but falling face first on his makeshift bed, leaving only his longsword behind.

Nikandros threw a cautious look in the direction of the fire, but Jord hadn't moved. Leaving the preparations for his own sleeping arrangements for later, he advanced slowly and crouched at a short distance from where Jord was sitting cross-legged on the ground, lost in the contemplation of the fire.

Jord surprised him by speaking up first.

"Do you ever get worried whenever these two disappear?"

He gestured with his chin to the side of the clearing where Nikandros had seen Laurent and Damianos lie down side by side for the night.

Nikandros shrugged.

"Constantly. I fear Laurent would push him down a precipice and call it an accident."

He watched Jord's brows furrow.

"He trusts Damen. He'd never do something so dishonorable to a man like him."

"But to others, he would?"

Jord did not supply this with an answer.

Nikandros was far from satisfied with that knowledge, but it was best to keep his opinions to himself. They didn't speak any further; not until their replacement came in the form of a grumpy Pallas and an uncharacteristically happy Lazar.

"Come."

It was all Jord offered before closing strong fingers around Nikandros' wrist and leading him away from the fire. He led a disconcerted Nikandros to the middle of the camp, where Jord had chosen to lay for the night. When he released the other man's arm and lifted the thick cover lined with furs, scooting underneath then looking expectantly at Nikandros - the latter balked at the implications of such an invitation.

"This isn't-"

"Nik," Jord said, very quiet. Tired. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

All it'd take was for Nikandros to turn around and walk away to dismiss this foolish proposition, and to probably put out any remaining ideas Jord might have had about their relationship.

Whatever had happened at Marlas, it'd been in private.

Their affair only.

In here, in the open, it was  _not_ customary to take another so freely to bed. Nikandros knew of the loose mores of the Veretian people, but he was still appalled to see Jord behave according to them. Somehow, he tended to forget where the soldier came from.

It was however, if not suitable-  _tempting_. And nothing his men would frown too much upon, seeing the company they were keeping. When Akielons and Veretians mingled, this sort of transgressions were bound to happen.

Nikandros was once again jarred out of his thoughts when Jord dropped the cover he'd been holding for him and rolled away, taking his silence and reluctance to move for an answer.

Nikandros unsheathed his sword and drove it into the ground where it remained upright. Next he took his high sandals off, and finally found his way under the covers and around Jord's warm and muscular form.

Jord groaned something in Veretian that Nikandros couldn't quite catch.

And turned around to bury his face in the other man's neck.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road to Ios (Part 2/2)

* * *

Dawn had yet to come when Nikandros was unceremoniously kicked out of Jord's bedroll.

Way before anyone could spot them laying together and begin asking questions that neither of them knew how to answer. Nikandros took that offense in stride, but not without a string of colorful curses in his mother tongue as he rolled off the ground and went to pick up his sword.

Nikandros was growing increasingly frustrated every time he witnessed the Veretian man lost in these mellow moods that turned him into a quiet and somber man, who was soaking up Nikandros' attention like a flower far too long deprived of the sun. Only to break out of that gloomy languor a few moments later and treat him once again with all the Veretian contempt he could muster.

The Akielon didn't know how long he could suffer such a treatment before something in him  _snapped_.

* * *

Miles of dusty, uneven road later, they'd once again stopped to settle camp.

Nikandros' men were growing restless with each passing day, the proximity with the city of Ios - and Kastor's patrols - putting them on edge.

With Laurent and Damen playing improbable scouts to make sure the area was truly safe enough to spend the night (and subsequently putting themselves and this whole campaign in _incredible_ danger), both armies were left completely under the Captain of the Guard and the  _kyros'_ command.

Most of the men from each side of the border had grown accustomed to each other. But only a few were behaving with a casualty tantamount to friendship.

On several occasions the two leaders had to step in to prevent a scuffle or clarify a few terms between men absolutely clueless about each other's culture and customs.

* * *

Sunset found most of the soldiers gathered together in small groups around modestly built campfires, trading battle stories as they waited for both Princes to return from their scouting mission ahead of the troops. One of the largest groups, an assortment of both Akielons and Veretians, was getting louder with every passing hour, one side trying to impress the other with exploits far too often embellished - if not completely imaginary. There were very few who understood both dialects, even less so on the Veretian side, but there were more than enough volunteers for hasty translations.

After a couple of drinks, Jord had joined the circle and found himself seated right across Nikandros. He noticed the barbarian didn't look in his direction; not even once since he'd sat down and accepted an offered drink. Jord knew because  _he_ on the other hand had had trouble tearing his gaze  _away_ from the other man, eyes constantly drawn to the broad silhouette that was flickering behind the curtain of smoke and hot air spiraling from the campfire.

It took some willpower to turn his focus somewhere else, but eventually Jord managed the feat and soon enough, found himself engaged in a verbal sparring match with Lydos - one of the Akielon soldiers whose company he felt to be the least revolting. And his Veretian wasn't as heavily accented as his fellow soldiers', which made him easier to understand.

Some time later, pleasantly warm from the decent drink and at ease from being surrounded (mostly) by his own countrymen, there was still something that didn't sit right in Jord's gut. He didn't feel the usual calm before a battle settle on his shoulders the way it did after years of loyal service in the King's, then the Prince's Guard. He'd seen many battlefields, and fought on all of them.

This wasn't anything new, and yet...

...yet something wasn't _quite_ right. A certain kind of restlessness had taken over his body, boiling right under the surface of his skin, making sweat run down his back hot - then cold. Then hot once more.

_Would it kill you to acknowledge my lowlife presence?_

Jord startled at that stray thought, caught off guard by his own hidden desires. 

That Nikandros ignored him so ostensibly... irritated him. And it irritated him that he was _being_ _irritated._

Jord wasn't accustomed to those feelings. To that type of yearning. He'd only rarely been subjected to an attraction so deep and consuming, and he held no good memories of the last time.

All he had to show for it were scars.

 _That won't happen again_ , he thought, downing another cup of the potent stuff one of the Akielon soldiers had been handing around.  _I won't let it happen._

* * *

Jord's memories were muddled, but he thought he still remembered one of the Akielons throwing a seemingly harmless jab at Laurent. Then another had repeated it a little less elegantly, and the next thing he knew they were all standing up with their swords drawn.

And he had crossed blades with the  _kyros_.

"Step back," Nikandros growled.

"I'm not afraid of Damen's _dog,_ " Jord spat, and felt a wave of approval from his side of the circle of offended soldiers ready to fight for their Prince's honor.

The corner of Nikandros' mouth twitched. He was visibly the least inebriated of them all, keeping a cool and collected appearance as opposed to Jord's face which was radiating heat from both the drinks and his rightful indignation. And he didn't appreciate the insult. He applied more pressure on Jord's sword with his own - but Jord stubbornly stood his ground.

"It's _King_ Damianos. And I'd rather be a King's dog... than a discarded lover."

The words - and the following, powerful push took Jord completely by surprise.

Jord stumbled backwards, sword slipping from his grasp. He fell on the ground  _hard_ , and the shock of the impact resonated painfully through his body. Then the world went still, and he could only stare at Nikandros' silhouette towering above him, expression unreadable in the dark.

_Discarded lover?_

Jord's brain couldn't supply him with any explanation for that choice of words. Had Nikandros implied he was the Prince's former lover?

Or had he meant-

_No... who could have told him?_

"Ah, Akielons."

The voice of the Prince resounded somewhere in the darkness, and the men all turned towards Laurent and Damen who'd just arrived - or could have been silent spectators for who knew how long, only now making themselves known to the crowd.

Laurent was looking at the  _kyros_ as he spoke, and Nikandros turned to him with a frown.

"Trust you to always come up with the simplest of explanations. When the truth is actually far uglier."

The last part was in a quieter voice, and Jord saw Laurent's eyes flash in his direction.

Briefly.

Long enough for Nikandros to notice. And his brow furrowed even more as he kept looking between Jord and Laurent like he was trying to figure something out.

"My poor barbarian friend, I know where your suspicions lie, but this has nothing to do with me. I was not the _traitor_ who broke my former Captain's heart."

"Shut up!"

The cry echoed like thunder into the night. Jord appeared as stunned as the rest of the crowd by his own outburst.

Concealed as their were all by the shadows, he noticed with a self-conscious wince how his Prince's eyes narrowed. From irritation or something else - he could not tell.

"Did someone..." Nikandros hesitantly started.

He stepped closer to the fallen man, his guard down, the tip of his sword pointing south.

_Did someone hurt you?_

Jord could practically hear the words, could feel the sudden concern woven tight into Nikandros' quiet voice. It surprised him; the thought that the  _kyros_ would take his personal misfortune to heart. It made Jord feel ill at ease in his own skin, for he'd been convinced of his own hatred towards the Akielon, yet now that he were faced with what appeared to be genuine concern coming from him - it made him falter. Made him question his own heart at the most inappropriate of times.

He needed to put an end to this public humiliation.

Jord took the opportunity the other man's confused concern offered and threw himself on him. He wrestled the barbarian's sword out of him then kicked him hard in the abdomen. Nikandros barely fought him, and that realization made his bad temper flare even more than his Prince all but disclosing his private history in front of the enemy.

The victory didn't feel like one, and Jord left a stunned-looking Nikandros sprawled in the dust where he'd been viciously knocked down - and stalked away without a word.

* * *

They had settled for the night at Mellos after days of eventful riding and pursuits, one of which had been an encounter with King Kastor's soldiers that could have been fatal but for the Prince of Vere's sharp tongue and quick wit.

Nikandros had been so impressed (and grateful), he'd even failed to react to _Charls'_  very low opinion of one Nikandros of Akielos who supposedly knew nothing about _cloth_ , watching the Prince instead as he entertained the gradually appeased soldiers and the innkeeper alike with what he was ashamed to admit had been akin to  _amusement_. The obvious pleasure Laurent of Vere took in outsmarting a crowd was equal parts impressive and foreboding. Times like these Nikandros was reminded of the Prince's young age, and the appeal such theatrics still held for him.

He admired the Prince's acumen, and at the same time feared its power over men.

Over Damianos.

A noise from the stables made him look away from the wagons he'd been tasked with guarding alongside two other of his own men, and towards the outbuildings surrounding the inn. He heard the horses stomp, and a brief neigh piercing the night.  

Nikandros already had a hand on the pommel of his sword when he recognized the silhouette that emerged from the shadows surrounding the stables and slowly made its way over to the wagons. He was now familiar with Jord's short stature, even in the dark.

The Veretian stopped just short of Nikandros' reach if he were to draw his weapon out.

Nikandros let his arm fall to his side.

He didn't know where he and the soldier stood since their 'skirmish' of a few days ago, and something told him whatever he could say would only drive the other man further away from him, which was why he'd decided to keep his distances, and not pry into Jord's private affairs like he was tempted to.

The last few strategical meetings around their princes' table had been more than a little tense. But everyone had been too focused on their advance on Kastor to comment on it. Nikandros had maybe thrown a glare or two in Laurent's direction, but other than that he hadn't acknowledged the other night, no more than Jord did.

In other circumstances, Nikandros would have found Jord that same night and shook the answers out of the man. But he'd grown to respect Jord too much for that. In fact he was far from done with... whatever the thing between them was, and it'd been clear that the moody soldier needed some time to collect himself after the way the Prince had so carelessly exposed him. After the way _Nikandros_   _himself_ had tried to poke where it hurt and missed his aim entirely it seemed, carried away by pesky rancor over Jord's treatment and contempt ever since he'd met the man.

They'd _both_ needed the time to recover from that altercation. 

And somehow Nikandros had still known that Jord would come back to him; a certitude he couldn't quite explain lived in him that whatever insults they'd been hurling at each other - they were not done. Not just yet. 

Sadly enough, this was who they were.

"When your watch is over, come find me."

With those ominous words, Jord retreated back into the shadows where he had come, back to the outbuildings.

Nikandros frowned.

He was in no mood to engage in another verbal sparring match with the other man. And he would have ignored the request, if it hadn't been for the fact that he'd felt the distance between them like a physical wound ever since their fallout. And after much time left for introspection, it was with no surprise that he'd come to realize he'd do anything to join the soldier after his watch, and hear what he had to say. To simply provide the physical comfort they'd been trading back and forth ever since their journey had begun.

Right now, of all the places he could be - he  _wanted_ to be wherever Jord would have him.

* * *

The humble housing surrounding the inn offered what little space sufficed to a brief stay: enough room for a bed and a table, and two chairs. Moreover, from what Nikandros could tell, Jord was one of the few favored by the Prince who'd been given a whole room for their own. A small luxury Nikandros had personally dismissed in favor of a bedroll out in the open. 

Nikandros was currently occupying one of those chairs, while Jord stood braced against the stone wall opposite him.

"You asked me to come, so here I am," Nikandros prompted, carefully studying the other's blank expression.

He was used to belligerent Jord, or brooding Jord, or focused Jord. He'd even seen the man break down and cry on numerous times, and then push Nikandros away like he were but an intruder and not the man he'd shared his pleasure with only moments ago. Jord was a passionate man, be it in the way he served his Prince or the way he treated his fellow countrymen. And he never cared to conceal his true opinion of Nikandros and his army.

The expressionless man now standing in front of the  _kyros_  and gazing at him with dead eyes was however almost startling in its strangeness. Nikandros had to fight off a strong urge to stand back on his feet, walk up to Jord and... do something, _anything_ , just to bring back the life and passion he'd come to crave.

Jord nodded absentmindedly at him.

Pushed fingers through his sandy brown hair.

Sighed.

"I have not been truthful with you."

Jord winced, and balled his hands into fists, pulling at his hair.

Nikandros pushed back into his chair, crossed his arms and tried to ignore the way he could feel what little had been left of his good mood evaporate at the reluctant confession. He knew the Veretian had plenty of secrets - a former lover the Prince of Vere had qualified as a 'traitor' being Nikandros' latest concern - but he was also wise enough and had spent enough time in company of Veretian dignitaries to expect very little clarification on anything the other man didn't wish to reveal.

This turn of events was unexpected, to say the least.

"That night at fort Marlas-" the soldier began, and Nikandros could feel himself tense all over.

Their first night together. When Jord had appeared at his door, uninvited. Shy, but wanting.

Or was it.

Nikandros _had_ been wondering for a while now when Jord's true face would finally show itself. And maybe he'd hoped that  _this one_ would be different than the rest of them. That maybe there'd  _really_ be no lies or machinations coming between them.

_When did I become so naive..._

"No," the gruffness of his own voice surprised him as he cut the other man off. "Don't."

Whatever Jord had done, Nikandros found he didn't wish to know. Jord's expression was enough indication that it'd lead to nothing good, and he was not ready to have that memory tarnished.

Not yet.

"Nik," Jord tried once more, and the  _kyros_ stood up.

"That night at Marlas, you came to me and we  _fucked_. And that's all!"

Jord let out a weary sigh.

Then a pale imitation of a laugh.

"The Prince ordered me to."

Stunned into silence, Nikandros felt the words cut through him like a spear, going right through his chest and lodging themselves somewhere in the middle.  _Tearing_ through flesh and bone.

He couldn't begin to understand the Prince's motive behind something so... vile. Or how Jord could have ever agreed to it.

"You're Laurent's whore," he finally said, haggard.

Jord shook his head.

"We're at war. I did what I had to."

Nikandros expected to see that flash of self-righteousness behind those hazel eyes he'd come to know so well; instead there was nothing. 

The Akielon took a deep breath through his nose, nostrils flaring.

"Why."

"I was to spy on you, make sure you and Damen weren't plotting behind our backs. And don't waste your breath pretending your side isn't just as distrustful."

"That is not the point, Damen would never-!"

The Akielon's body shook with equal parts anger and disgust. He could no longer meet Jord's gaze. Instead his eyes roamed over the expanse of the ceiling, as if searching for the answers Jord couldn't give him.

He wasn't sure if he still trusted him with anything.

"There is suspicion between us," he conceded, voice dark, "and sworn enemies can't become allies in a fortnight simply because Laurent and Damianos have ordered it. But we're in this fight together _right now_ , so know this: I've treated you as an equal ever since you _wormed_ your way into my bedchambers under false pretense, and once this is over I'll have nothing to feel ashamed of. But  _you_ can't say the same."

When he felt pressure against the thick tunic protecting his chest, Nikandros' eyes were drawn back down.

Jord had put his hand there, but his eyes were downcast.

"You care, don't you?"

The question unnerved him, too close for comfort.

"I'm as surprised as you," Nikandros hissed back, shaking the other man's hand off him. "I kept trying to find something good in you, but I was only fooling myself. You Veretians are all the same, and I most of all should have remembered that. And Laurent might be the most despicable of you all."

He expected a punch to the stomach, or any kind of violent reaction suggesting Jord had heard him. But for the first time, nothing came. Not even a clever insult.

The other man remained quiet, still gazing down, arms hanging limply at his sides.

Utterly defeated.

And that lack of a fight drove another realization past Nikandros' thick skull. It was jarring, and deeply uncomfortable; it made something inside him come undone.

_He cares, too._

Staring at the man in front of him, the one who was being truthful even though it so obviously cost him to do so, betraying his own Prince's command and Nikandros' opinion of him - Nikandros decided he refused to believe he'd been nothing but an order diligently executed. He refused to accept that the few times he had seen the man's walls come down and it'd been only the two of them in the whole world - he refused to accept _that_ had been all pretend. He could not accept it, because he could no longer pretend all they did was  _fuck_ and nothing more. Not on his side, anyway.

"Show me!" Nikandros ordered in a thundering voice.

His fingers closed around Jord's throat for lack of anything to do, and maybe because he wanted to hurt him still - and he pushed him flush against the wall. At that moment, he could not care less about waking all the occupants of the inn.

For a fraction of a second, something belligerent crossed Jord's features, but it was nothing but a mere illusion of the man he'd been a few days ago. It vanished soon as it appeared. The lack of a response made Nikandros' temper turn sour with disappointment.

"Show you what, barbarian," Jord spat, but there was no heat behind the words.

"Show me that  _you_ care."

Nikandros' voice shook. 

Jord frowned, then his eyes gradually opened to convey sincere surprise.

"You were spying on me, but when you found me that night you didn't need any... encouragement. You were  _hard_ when I touched you, when I kissed you-"

A soft moan escaped Jord's lips.

"I like men," he countered, slightly breathless, a hint of amusement creeping in his voice.

Nikandros crowded him now, his bigger frame looming over him and keeping him sandwiched between the Akielon's body and the stone wall.

The  _kyros_ ' hand left his throat in order to slither down between the other's legs, right where chainmail gave way to tough leather at the juncture of thigh and hip, to ensure a better flexibility and freedom of movement - and kneaded.

Jord's legs spread just the slightest and his mouth opened, more of the soft moans tumbling out. His eyes fluttered close when the Akielon's thigh found his crotch and applied a pressure which without armor on would have been bordering on painful.

"Nik-" 

_"Show me."_

Nikandros didn't even notice when he switched to Akielon, and neither did Jord.

Jord ground against him,  _hard_ , and stilled. Hazel eyes opened and Nikandros had never thought of thinking of them as 'lovely' before.

He did, now. He'd missed everything about that face, from the hardened features of a seasoned soldier to the hardly noticeable splash of freckles.

"His name was... Aimeric."

They gazed at one another for what felt like a thousand ages.

Then Nikandros grabbed Jord's chin with his free hand and brought their mouths together.

* * *

They were quick to shed their armors and weapons, Nikandros' chiton coming off faster than Jord's heavy chestplate.

And then it was heat and skin, and nothing else. As Jord laid himself bare in every sense of the word across the narrow bed, Nikandros climbed on top of him and did his best imitation of a human blanket. Once settled, they'd continued where they'd left off, Jord's trust everything, and _nothing_ like Nikandros had expected it to be.

It was terrifying to have it, but he wanted it anyway.

"Tell me about him."

After repeatedly pushing him away, Jord had finally consented to the request. His own proof that he wanted to let Nikandros in.

As he listened and did his best not to react to Aimeric's revolting betrayal, hands always moving, always in contact with Jord's skin - Nikandros came to the conclusion that he'd been very close to the truth when he'd suspected Laurent to be the one Jord's heart longed for. Aimeric had been young and noble too, and full of confidence in his own abilities. Nikandros still needed to wrap his mind around the fact that he'd been the son of the couple they'd taken against their will and were currently holding hostages in the same chariots he were guarding not an hour ago.

But where Laurent was smart and excruciatingly observant, the son of councilor Guion had been too naive to recognize his days as the Regent's pet had been over - or maybe he'd known, and been simply too desperate to care - and that overconfidence of his had been his demise.

Nikandros had been far from expecting a history so dark and twisted between Jord and his previous lover.

Once Jord was finished, tremors were running down his arms and legs, and there was wetness pooling at the corners of his eyes. It was there that Nikandros kissed him first, wishing the tears away.

Hoping he could be the one to take all that pain away.

"Tonight may be one of our last together," he whispered as he settled next to the shorter man and hugged him from behind, allowing him a semblance of privacy now that the truth was all out in the open. "Or even alive, for that matter. In less than a week we'll be upon Kingsmeet, and if that's where our journey ends and the armies of the Usurper are there to welcome us, then I'd rather meet my end knowing I have you beside me as a friend... not an enemy."

Jord kept quiet, but his breathing was too uneven for him to be asleep.

"And I believe it's time you let go of the past, too. If we are to die soon, you could at least live a few more days with a clear head and a light heart... once you let him go. No more regrets."

"But-"

" _He was a spy._ He used you for his own gain, and killed your friend. _He_ did it, not you. And his apologies, however heartfelt were too little too late. So let him go."

He felt the other man shudder at the mention of Orlant, who he had spoken of with melancholy coupled with a fondness that reminded Nikandros of the way he'd often find himself talking about Damianos. Orlant had been Jord's brother in arms, they'd been together through thick and thin and always had each other's back. And that man of honor had only died to satisfy a boy's petty ploy, a mere pawn in the game between a powerful man and his nephew.

"How am I any different?" Jord asked, voice muffled by the pillow.

Nikandros brought him even closer against his chest, the sensations of the other's strong body in his arms comforting; and his scent already so familiar.

"You're not him. And  _this_ ," he said and dug his fingers into the flesh of Jord's hips for emphasis, "is not a lie. Not anymore."

"I... truly can't say what was genuine with him and what wasn't," Jord confessed bitterly. "The only thing I know is that every time Aimeric... made me  _beg_ for even scraps of attention, he was doing it all for the Regent."

Nikandros frowned, and was reminded of the way Jord had startled at the mere idea of Nikandros putting his mouth anywhere near his cock, and suddenly he could finally make sense of all these seemingly unrelated details that used to be absolute mysteries to him. And Jord's constant concern with Nikandros being a  _kyros_ , thus a nobleman. And how the soldier's eyes would fill with incertitude, along with that  _hungry wonder_ that Nikandros still desired him so overtly despite the fact that he were a commoner.

Aimeric had been a prideful man. And Jord had paid a heavy price for loving him.

Fortunately, Nikandros' pride was not so great as to render him blind to the world around him.

As Jord gave a hesitant thrust back into Nikandros' crotch, the _kyros_ mouthed into golden skin words barely spoken aloud, and felt Jord shiver.

And had to chase those goosebumps with his lips.

"What was that?"

Nikandros paused.

Jord shifted and turned inside Nikandros' lax arms until they were facing each other, sharing one breath.

His eyes were red, but dry. And Nikandros was glad to see the past was done tormenting him. He was confident there would be no more tears for Aimeric now that they'd finally sucked the poison out of the wound - now all Jord needed in order to heal was _time_.

"That was Akielon. You wouldn't understand."

"I want to. Tell me what you said."

Nikandros chuckled, but the sound was almost sad. He kissed Jord's forehead, thumb caressing a cheek.

"You're going to find this ridiculous but... I never learned those words. I don't know how to... say this."

He sighed, frustrated with his tenuous grasp on Veretian, on his  _lover's mother tongue -_ all those political terms he'd taught himself over the years and encounters, and not a single useful one in this context. 

"Then say it in Akielon."

"I thought you didn't speak it."

"It can't be that hard to understand. Grunt, grunt."

Nikandros, for the first time, laughed at the blatant jab at his culture.

And then unleashed a torrent of passionate guttural sounds on a completely unprepared Jord, and noticed the blush that crept up his throat even though he couldn't understand a single word. But maybe he saw it all in Nikandros' eyes - they were like two white hot embers, burning through him, piercing him with everything he felt in that moment.

When Nikandros fell silent, Jord exhaled a loud breath.

No further explanations were needed, and translation was futile.

Jord was on him before he could react, and the next thing he knew they were kissing hard and frantic; desperate in a way they hadn't been, even back in that ridiculously stuffy room at fort Marlas.

* * *

Their first time was rough, and a miscalculation had them toppling from the bed to the floor.

Jord hurt his back pretty badly, and Nikandros' knees took the brunt of his fall but soon enough all was forgotten in favor of their shared desire that burned out fast like the lit wick of a candle. And when Jord's release was upon him, Nikandros' name was the only one on his mind and on his tongue.

The second time however, after finding their way back to the bed - was different. Painfully slow and heavy with intent; it was like nothing Nikandros had ever experienced before.

"Nik?" Jord's voice was tentative as he straddled him, his hands braced on Nikandro's biceps. As if he knew the effect this type of lovemaking had to have on him.

As if he could feel the earthquake, too.

Nikandros smiled, and beckoned him for a kiss.

* * *

The men rose at dawn, and quickly started the preparation for an early departure.

Damen made his way out of the inn alongside Laurent and exchanged a few words with Nikandros about the situation with the men and their mounts, before they made their way to the stables to tend to their horses.

The three men did so in silence, and when they walked back out, he and Laurent already on horseback, they found every man up and rearing to go, and leave behind Mellos and Kastor's garrison of (momentarily) unsuspecting men surrounding it.

As they made their way to the chariots, Damen glanced around to Nikandros and noticed that the man had abandoned his side, and lead his own mount back to where Jord stood on the other side of the courtyard, where some of the men had slept while the rest had taken advantage of the comfort provided by the inn. 

"Do you still doubt me?" Laurent asked all of a sudden, confusing him for a moment.

"About Nikandros and Jord?" 

He knew Laurent hated it when he played the fool, and indeed Laurent made an exasperated sound and brought his mount closer so he, too, could observe Jord and Damen's second in command.

They watched as the two men stood impossibly close to one another, and shared what was obviously an intimate moment while the rest of the camp around them was getting ready to depart.

"I've never doubted you," Damen eventually said when the two others finally parted ways, albeit reluctantly. "I was frustrated that you didn't trust me anymore to share your plans with me. But I'm glad you had a hand in this." He paused, and a fond smile briefly painted his lips. "They deserve some happiness."

Laurent hummed next to him in agreement.

"And it's one less victory for my dear uncle."

* * *

"Whatever happens next," Jord said, and closed his eyes when the Akielon brought his forehead to his own, aware of all the eyes that were possibly watching them but not caring in the least, "know that you have captured my heart. And I don't care to have it back."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, my apologies for the delay. I'm aware that some of you have been waiting for a year to see this story complete and I wanna say _thank you so much_ for your patience. I know you didn't have any other choice, but you were never unkind or impatient in your feedback, and you made me confident I could finish this some day without stressing me out. This fic was seriously a pleasure to write  & then discuss with some of you <3
> 
> P.S.: I've not read the short stories, and I don't think I ever will. This chapter is 100% AU, and the best ending I could give them. Enjoy!

* * *

_A year later_

 

A couple of miles into the no man's land stretching between the kingdoms of Vere and Akielos, a splendid carriage surrounded by an armed guard was following the main road at a leisurely pace. The horses leading the carriage were of a typical Veretian breed, and from the joyous spring in their step, they appeared well rested and fed. The carriage itself was however covered in specks of dried dirt; all indications that the journey had been long, but punctuated with a satisfying amount of halts for the horses and the occupants to rest.

That was, however, a mere decoy.

Another mile down the road followed the real carriage, this one of modest build and with no escort to be seen.

Inside, two men sat facing each other in relative silence.

The first was Laurent, King of Vere.

The second answered to the name of Jord.

* * *

 

Laurent was lost in the contemplation of the landscape outside his dusty window, green pastures and ancient forests making way to stony lands and isolated shrubs. Even inside the enclosed space, he could tell the temperature was rising as they advanced on Akielos.

He was surprised to find himself missing Akielos.

And indeed, it felt strange to miss the oppressive heat characteristic of these lands he barely knew, but he'd made more precious memories under this unforgiving sun than back in his own motherland, and he was growing sentimental with age.

Laurent could feel a pleasant warmth blooming inside his chest and warming him to the marrow of his bones at the thought of the man he'd missed even more than the breathtaking southern scenery. It was the eleventh day since the beginning of their journey, and he was growing impatient at the simple thought of Damen's eyes and the way they lit up every time they were reunited after a long period of time apart. Laurent could not wait to feel the weight of that gaze on himself, and the accompanying knowledge of being desired above everything else; of being seen for exactly who he was, and being loved despite every horrible truth he'd let Damen uncover.

And above all else, he could not wait to be in his lover's arms once more, knowing his mere presence was all Damen desired. As did Laurent himself.

It was then that a polite but insisting cough brought him back to the present.

Laurent shifted his body in order to face his companion.

"You will have to forgive my bluntness, your Majesty," Jord paused, giving Laurent enough time to acknowledge the use of the honorific title and to roll his eyes at the unnecessary formality, "But why am I to accompany you? Surely, Enguerran-"

"-has absolutely no desire whatsoever to return to Akielos."

Jord's light eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Laurent almost lost his composure and laughed.

Almost.

He'd never lost a verbal sparring before and he wasn't about to start now, however fond he'd grown of his guard.

"And I do?" Jord insisted, although it was clear in the way he was slouching in his seat that he'd already given up all pretenses at rebelling against his King's will. "Your Majesty?" He added almost surly.

The corners of Laurent's mouth twitched.

"I have important business to attend to beside meeting with my betrothed, and you will play your part in that in due time. And for the love of all that is holy, stop calling me your Majesty. Or I will be forced to retaliate by calling you _chevalier_."

Jord did not offer a verbal reply, but he bent his head every so slightly.

Accepting, what it seemed, defeat.

* * *

 

On the night before they were to cross the Akielon border, Laurent knew he could no longer avoid a certain sensitive matter.

He cleared his throat, effectively attracting Jord's attention.

"Have you heard news of our mutual friend, the _kyros_ of Ios?" Laurent asked.

The carriage shook and rattled when the horses led it over a pothole.

Jord swallowed.

"I did not know he was appointed to the province of Ios. Is this recent?"

"You haven't heard, then," Laurent spoke almost to himself, before reaching inside his richly-embroidered tunic and pulling out the document that had been keeping him company since the beginning of their journey. "I suppose he has written you before, as this one does start rather abruptly, but unfortunately those earlier messengers must have been intercepted on the way to Vere if you haven't... mmh, here," Laurent eventually lost patience and offered the letter to its rightful recipient.

Jord took it with a steady hand, but his expression was troubled.

"It is of no major consequence," Laurent felt the need to explain as he watched Jord unfold the piece of yellowed paper. "And I've only withheld it from you to ensure that you do not needlessly worry. It'd have made you a very unpleasant travelling companion," he added, trying for a bit of humor.

It was however doubtful Jord heard anything the moment his fingers took hold of Nikandros' letter.

As Jord read, Laurent let his gaze wander outside once more.

The night sky was a deep dark blue.

The same time tomorrow, they'd be welcomed inside the great hall of the royal palace.

"I... understand," Jord said once he was done reading, his voice was soft in the quiet. His head and heart were no doubt heavy with newfound knowledge of Nikandros' situation. "But in the future," he continued, "you shouldn't resort to hiding this kind of information. I am forever in your debt for all you have done for us... You were the one who gave the order that brought me closer to Damen's _kyros_ but you never forced me to report on him as dutifully as I should have, nor have you discouraged our overt affections during our incursion against Kastor. But I believe you've done enough, and I can ask no more favors of you. Least of all, to spare me the worry over unpleasant news from Nikandros."

Laurent could only smile at his man's clueless candor. Only Jord would be thankful after discovering he'd been kept in the dark when he should be the first to know. Laurent had thus decided a while ago that it was better Jord never know the extent of Laurent's meddling between him and the _kyros_. He'd hate to tarnish the man's ideals, and lose his unwavering trust.

Laurent respected Jord too much to reveal he'd once been the King of Vere's pawn, even if all Laurent had been striving for was to mend what his uncle had broken.

"Rest assured," he said, leaning forward, a hand on Jord's shoulder. "I only plan a few interferences more."

Jord appeared far from reassured.

* * *

 

 _It is of no major consequence_ , Jord reminded himself, Nikandros’ placating letter and Laurent’s words a balm for his mounting concern.

As two guards led them up the imposing flight of stairs outside the palace, Jord's memory traveled back to a year's time of its own volition.

After their capitulation, everyone from both Damen and Laurent's armies had followed their princes into certain death without a moment's hesitation.

Nikandros too had climbed those steps next to Jord with the same grim, and determined face. And upon reaching the gates, he had taken hold of Jord's sword, fingers closing carelessly around the sharp blade and made the other halt with brute force. Jord had frowned disapprovingly as the rest of the men had walked past them.

But Nikandros' eyes had been so bright, and he'd held Jord's gaze with the intensity he only reserved for important matters. And that was when he'd made his vow to follow Jord's fate, whatever that might entail.

 _"Neither gods nor kings could keep me from your side,”_ he’d said. _“If you fall, I fall."_

* * *

 

In the end, fate had it that both survived the battle that ensued within the walls of the palace.

Damen, severely wounded, had been forced to rest in the wake of his victory — and it had fallen upon his _kyros'_ shoulders to lead his army into the urgent task of securing the rightful King's position against numerous factions, that were still in favor of Kastor's rule and most of them not yet aware of their leader's demise.

In the meantime, Jord had accompanied Laurent back to Vere, in order to support him in his claim for his own throne.

They had gone their separate ways, after all.

And on the handful of occasions Laurent and Damen had visited each other, either he or the _kyros_ had been too busy otherwise to attend at the same time.

With the lack of response to his correspondence, Jord had naturally come to the conclusion that whatever had been shared during the campaign had been meant to last only so long, and he had not further inquired from Laurent or Damen about Nikandros.

* * *

 

Afterwards the guards led them inside the palace and down the long corridor where Jord had once upon a time fought for his very life.

They stopped before the gates of the great hall.

Jord looked down at his formal attire, and once again felt embarrassment in standing dressed in full Akielon custom.

He had found the chiton inside his room at the last inn they'd spent the night, and Laurent had insisted he wore it. When Jord had made the mistake of asking why, Laurent had batted his lashes at him.

"Well, I was told by a very reliable source that there is nothing more irresistible than a Veretian in Akielon clothing."

He had been referring, of course, to Damen. And Jord knew that Laurent in a chiton was truly a sight, but he himself would never have thought of clothing oneself in foreign garments in order to become... 'irresistible'.

"But it is first and foremost a show of respect," Laurent had quickly sobered up. "The first step to a lasting peace resides solely in appearances. Don't you agree?"

Jord agreed.

Which meant wearing the goddamned chiton that somehow managed to weigh almost as much as his armor. It had been cut out of a thick, white material held together by a single round brooch pinned to the chest, and a thin belt that was less for support and more for outlining the waist. And atop the chiton, Jord had had to drape a secondary layer of clothing over one shoulder. It was burgundy with a pattern of golden embroideries, and it fell a little lower than the skirt of his chiton, brushing the top of his knee with every step.

The purpose of that cloth, he’d been informed, was to designate foreign diplomats.

Beside him Laurent stood dressed in similar Akielon fashion, thought his cloth was a deep royal blue.

The monarch of Vere was stunning, as per usual.

Jord dared not think further of the way he himself had to look like in comparison.

* * *

 

The guards led them into the great hall. And after a token bow for Laurent — left.

Damen rose from his throne and walked down the steps leading to the dais. Even from a distance, Jord could sense the man was in high spirits. And who wouldn’t be when Laurent of Vere himself deigned to be their guest.

Jord stood purposefully back, mindful of his King’s privacy. However, they didn’t embrace each other. There were no romantic effusions.

And perhaps there needn’t be.

Not with the way Damen’s dark eyes softened when he gazed down at his betrothed.

And then, they finally touched.

Once.

With a calculated flourish, Damen took hold of Laurent’s hand, turned it palm up and gave it the chastest of kisses.

From the color rising to Laurent’s visage — it was clear he was equal parts pleased and embarrassed by the sweet gesture.

Jord watched them gravitate around each other for a few moments more. Their happiness was usually contagious, but this time Jord found it difficult to remain light-hearted as he watched two lovers reunited.

Worry weighed him down like iron chains, and his thoughts kept coming back to the contents of Nikandros’ letter.

There he stood, morose, until Damen’s hawk-like gaze found him.

“Jord!”

He accepted Damen’s brotherly hug once the King walked up to him, his affection for the other man naught but sincere, pushing the thoughts of Nikandros aside for the time being.

Despite their past divergences of opinion, it had not taken long for Jord to give in to his instincts when it came to Damen.

He’d allowed himself to love and respect the man until he was ready to give his life protecting him. Just as he would for Laurent, the man to whom Jord had vowed allegiance.

“It always warms my heart to welcome you in my home,” — Damen’s heartfelt words as they parted.

Jord adjusted his flimsy belt.

“You mean you like to gloat whenever you can catch me enjoying Akielon delicacies.”

“You said they were better,” Damen reminded him, eyes crinkling at the corners with mischief. “Needless to say, you remain the cook’s favorite. I have not seen the man this proud since I was a child.”

Eyes downcast, Damen seemed lost in the memory.

With a patient smile, Jord patted the man’s side, bringing him back to the present. “And it’s a pleasure to see you well, Damen.”

Damen didn’t return his smile.

A frown creased his brow instead.

“Forgive me, I should maybe have started with this…”

Jord schooled his features, careful not to betray the worry that had been slowly gnawing at his insides since last night.

He knew what Damen was about to reveal; it was the contents of Nikandros’ delayed missive, for he knew about their romantic entanglement and certainly wished to inform Jord of his lover’s current condition. Or maybe he should think of him as his _former_ lover.

Jord spared Damen the trouble.

“I’m aware there has been an ambush,” he said.

 _It was a faction of insurgents still loyal to Kastor’s rule_ , Nikandros’ letter had read. _They were waiting for us on the outskirts of Ios. I was thrown off my horse after one of them got past my defenses and thrust a spear in my side._

Jord took a deep, steadying breath.

Damen nodded once, and behind him Jord noticed Laurent had drawn significantly closer, and was listening intently to their exchange.

“I trust he’s been recovering well in the care of your household?” Jord asked.

_I was fortunate it was nothing the medicus couldn’t handle._

Another deep breath.

To Jord’s consternation, Damen shook his head.

“His men brought him to the palace after defeating their attackers,” he explained. “I was immediately assured that his days were in no danger but that he was, however, in a very dark mood. He left for his own residence on the eastern side of the city a fortnight ago, and every day I’ve paid him a visit his temperament has been fouler than the day before. If I may,” Damen added with a hint of hesitance in his voice, “I believe right now your sight would be the best medicine.”

_I’ve been missing you dearly. I believe a wiser man would have taken your lack of reply for a clear answer, but I’ve only ever been able to deceive Damianos into thinking there’s even an ounce of wisdom in me._

_In truth, I’m a fool._

Heart pounding, Jord turned to Laurent and requested permission to take his leave.

And a horse.

* * *

 

Before Jord could make a hasty retreat, Laurent had called after him.

_“Tomorrow, we'll be signing an agreement to establish foreign embassies on each sides of the border. I plan to appoint one of my distant cousins to become the ambassador of Vere in these lands. And I want you to remain here, as Captain of her guard.”_

Jord had had trouble coming up with a suitable response. So he’d quickly given up all pretenses at formality and voiced his worst fear instead.

_“I am to stay here? Is this... a demotion?”_

After Laurent’s coronation, Jord had been knighted and given the Veretian title of _chevalier_ for his merits when his kingdom had needed him the most, bounding him again to Laurent’s personal service. A _chevalier_ ’s allegiance belonged to his King, whom he was meant to follow at his court as well as into battle.

But to be left behind meant Jord had failed to fulfill his duty.

 _“On the contrary,”_ Laurent had been quick to clarify to his crestfallen subject _. “I trust nobody more than you with the safety of what little family I have left. But do not take any hasty decisions. Go find your wounded kyros, and I shall wait for your answer on the morrow.”_

Jord had been so stunned by Laurent’s proposal and what his decision could entail, he’d barely paid attention to the guard Damen had chosen to be his guide to Nikandros’ home.

And had utterly failed to react to Damen’s parting words.

_“Oh, by the way, nice chiton.”_

* * *

 

From what little Jord knew about Akielon politics, Nikandros becoming a _kyros_ of the city of Ios meant his name had gained in prestige and nobility since he’d last seen the man.

Jord had never had the occasion to visit Nikandros’ previous home in Delphes, but somehow he felt certain it couldn’t have been as striking as the castle perched on top of a cliff his guide had led them to.

It wasn’t as monumental as a battle fort or as impressive as the royal palace, but it was still a spectacular construction.

Jord’s gaze was on the façade of the castle growing under their eyes as they directed their horses through the streets of the sleeping city.

It seemed the guard had caught onto Jord’s desire to get to the _kyros_ as fast as their mounts would allow, for he did not dawdle unnecessarily on the way.

The journey was fortunately brief.

Once they’d reached the gates, and let themselves into the courtyard, the royal guard had informed the servants of their identity and purpose. And had promptly left, his duty carried out.

Jord’s heart beat frenetically, blood pulsating at his Adam’s apple and making it hard to breathe.

He burst into the hall of the castle looking like a madman, and demanded in a breathless voice to be taken to the _kyros_ without delay.

* * *

 

Nikandros was asleep.

Jord stood in the doorway for quite some time, gazing at the man in the bed.

Watching his chest rise and fall with each breath.

Watching the life still coursing through Nikandros’ veins.

The relief that washed over him the moment he stumbled into the room and saw for himself that Nikandros was indeed faring better than he'd hoped had been so powerful he had needed the door frame to support him when his knees could not.

However, even in his sleep, Nikandros’ face showed signs of exhaustion, and his skin was a noticeable shade paler than normal.

He was still recovering.

And Jord’s presence could be disturbing much needed rest.

As that thought occurred, Jord promptly walked out of the room and took a seat on the marble bench lining the opposite wall.

And thought about the lack of slaves in the castle as he only saw servants walk up to him every so often to offer him food and drinks, and the comfort of a guest room — all of which Jord politely but firmly declined.

Mostly, Jord thought about the lack of slaves warming Nikandros’ bed, and the resulting lightness in his heart.

* * *

 

The sound of ceramic crashing on the floor startled Jord awake. At some point during the night, he’d nodded off.

Jord proceeded to rub the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of his hands.

The commotion inside Nikandros’ room pursued.

Eventually he stood up, just as one of the servants was leaving the room.

The woman was rolling her eyes heavenward. She didn’t appear to be upset or rattled in the least, and upon noticing Jord she gave him a quick nod and a raise of an eyebrow — a silent show of sympathy for the condemned — and left the door behind her wide open.

The fact that Nikandros’ household seemed less than impressed with his outbursts was the sign of a fair master; one who did not resort to unjust punishments that’d keep servants and slaves alike in constant fear.

Jord hadn’t expected anything less from Nikandros.

* * *

 

For the second time that night, Jord walked into the _kyros_ ’ room.

The room was spacious and sparsely furnished. And on the bed was Nikandros, sitting up and looking imposing as ever, but somehow fragile too in nothing but bandages around his midriff, and a few new scars overlapping with old ones.

Jord struggled to stave his disappointment off when Nikandros’ dark eyes measured him first with open disbelief, that unexpectedly morphed into weariness. Just as fast, Jord’s presence seemed to have drained him of all the vitality he had displayed moments ago.

Jord didn’t avert his gaze, refusing to let cowardice win.

It wasn’t easy.

There were broken pieces of ceramic scattered on the floor by the wall opposite him. Jord stared at them, then returned to the other man.

_“I was immediately assured that his days were in no danger but that he was, however, in a very dark mood.”_

Damen hadn’t lied. Nikandros was indeed unhappy with his current situation. But the King had been wrong about Jord’s presence being of any help.

Despite the hopeful tone of his last letter, Jord could imagine the _kyros_ ’ impatience had started to fester when no answer ever came back.

“Jord.” His name, when it was finally uttered, escaped the other man’s mouth like a thorn being pulled out of a wound.

It hurt to hear the icy tone, and meet the accusing eyes.

“Nik," he began, determined to win back Nikandros' hard-won trust and affection. "I was unaware of your condition until the night before."

As Jord’s words gradually sunk in, something in Nikandros posture softened. Jord exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and took the few steps that would bring him to the bed.

Nikandros had to look up, now.

“And I never received any of your previous missives," he continued, emboldened by the flicker of hope in Nikandros’ eyes. "I suppose the borders are still riddled with bandits, so they must have—”

A sharp tug on Jord’s arm cut him mid-sentence.

Nikandros had moved a little closer, and Jord’s skin was burning under his touch.

“I cannot bear any more long-winded explanations. Just tell me: is there still any hope left for us? Am I in your thoughts as often as you occupy mine?”

The feverish inquiries, blunt and raw and presented with an utter lack of embellishment left Jord at a loss for words. He’d forgotten what it was like to listen to a man speak with his heart.

And Nikandros’ heart was yearning for him.

Even now.

_Always._

Deeply moved by the revelation, Jord knelt on the stone floor, and stroked with trembling fingers the beloved face of the _kyros_.

Nikandros closed his eyes, and simply let him.

Then Jord’s hand glided lower, over scarred skin and fresh bandages until he found the wound in Nikandros’ side.

“From the moment I was informed of your injury, it feels as if I have not drawn a single breath.”

Nikandros’ own breath caught in his throat. Then he exhaled it in a low, desperate moan.

And leaned forward to kiss him.

* * *

 

It hurt to move against his lover, but it’d have hurt even more to keep himself away from Jord’s embrace a _moment_ longer. And now that he had Jord back in his arms, he could never let go, pain nothing but an afterthought.

The chiton had bunched up around Jord’s thighs as he straddled Nikandros on the bed and rocked into him with considerate, yet demanding thrusts, his mouth always on Nikandros’, always moving and licking and biting and tasting. Lying atop him with his disheveled hair and his Akielon attire falling apart to reveal tantalizing expanses of skin — Jord resembled an apparition from one of Nikandros’ fever induced dreams. Nikandros had had a lot of them, but they'd never been able to compete with the _reality_ of Jord being there and wanting him, rubbing against Nikandros' hard cock slow and sensual and cruel and loving.

Their kisses twisted and deepened, then slowed down, then with a renewed surge of lust they kissed again, their passion rising and falling like the tide. And for once, Nikandros wasn't racing towards the finish line, hands buried in Jord’s soft hair and holding the man impossibly close inside his arms. And Jord never complained, only making more of those gorgeous sounds deep in his throat.

Nikandros’ wound had healed enough that he could bear Jord’s weight without a wince, and the strength of his hips as he was nearing his climax.

In the middle of a kiss, Jord finally reached his peak and spilled hot and wet over Nikandros’ stomach and his bandages, his vision going black, his mouth hanging open as he desperately clung to Nikandros, still riding the waves of his pleasure.

In the aftermath, his lips found Nikandros’ again between whispers of fidelity and love.

And with their joined hands, they brought Nikandros to his own impossibly sweet and joyful release. 

* * *

 

The sun appeared on the horizon, light streaming into the room through the large open windows. In the distance, the streets of Ios were growing gradually noisy again with the shouts of the merchants and the voices of the growing crowd.

Tearing his attention away from the outside world, Nikandros looked down at the man in his arms. Jord was lying with his head on Nikandros' chest. He was playing with the hairs on Nikandros' pectorals, before his hand moved lower to gently caress his wounded side.

"Did I hurt you?"

Nikandros shook his head, and covered Jord's hand with his own.

"You can never hurt me,  _agapé_. Not in this way."

Jord shivered in his arms, but didn't comment on which ways Nikandros meant.

 _"Agapé?"_ He asked instead.

The sandy-blond head turned up, and light eyes stared curiously at him.

"My love," Nikandros translated.

Jord's mouth stretched into the kind of lazy, blissful smile Nikandros had only been dreaming of seeing one day. Now he knew he could gaze upon his lover for the rest of eternity and never get enough of that unexpected side of him.

But eventually Jord laid his head down again, hiding his expression.

“I wish there was a way for you to stay,” Nikandros confessed after a stretch of quiet, trying best as he could to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "But I know your fealty lies with your King first and foremost, as does mine, and I admire your loyalty as I always have."

Jord shivered again, so Nikandros tightened his arms around the smaller man, bringing him closer.

“You want me to remain in Akielos?”

“I want you to remain in Akielos _with me_ ,” Nikandros corrected, and combed Jord's hair back from his sweaty forehead to better study his reaction.

After a moment of hesitation, Jord offered his lover another smile —

“Then I believe you might be interested in a decision I recently made.”

— and a chance at a shared future.

* * *

 


End file.
